Crimson Honey {closed}

"I think we're more suited to sunsets, Aspenpaw." Finchstar stifled a yawn as the two toms padded out onto the territory. "Although I won't turn down the chance to discover these tunnels, no matter the time of day." It was early morning, just past dawn, and the sky was blue and vast, speckled with clouds. The heat wasn't as heavy now, and one could freely enjoy a trek across the grass. It was the first moment of peace Finchstar had felt in a while. A moon ago, Aspenpaw had returned with Barleytuft, Grousefrost, and Elmskip to share knowledge from StarClan of the holes beneath the ground. Slowly, overtime, WindClan had began learning and practicing their digging skills, however that wasn't nearly the most important thing to have taken place.

Finchstar's own apprentice, Cloverpaw was mauled by a dog on the territory, but thanks to Aspenpaw's quick thinking and sturdy drive, the apprentice was recovering well. Sadly the poor scrap had been confined to the medicine den for quite some time, and still resided there even now. Finchstar paid him numerous visits, sometimes to deliver prey, sometimes to bring some moss with water, and sometimes just to talk. And to add to the glory of it, Aspenpaw oftentimes was present as Finchstar found a seat in his den. The two were good friends, and the leader hoped deep down that his visits now could heal their scars of Brookclover's death. But the scars were only scars. No longer did they fester, and no longer did they sting. In fact, their old wounds were stronger now, and as Finchstar followed Aspenpaw through the heather, he knew they wouldn't be pulled apart again.

"I'm thinking the tunnels weren't the sole reason you decided to leave camp this early, 'paw." Finchstar gave a small chuckle as he padded to his former apprentice's side. "Cloverpaw is quite a talkative cat, and while I enjoy his spirit, perhaps you were looking for some freedom? Don't worry, you now have WindClan's leader to talk your ear off instead." Another chuckle, and Finchstar ducked under a gorse arch, sniffing the air. While his heart was light, the leader still remained vigilant as he kept a lookout for the dog who had maimed Cloverpaw. After the attack, Grousefrost and Goldenpaw went in search for the beast, but to no avail. Aspenpaw had claimed it belonged to a Twoleg, but the tom still kept watch.

Before long they had arrived at a large rabbit warren, the moor sloping slightly upward to form a small cliff, numerous holes dotting its landscape. Finchstar gave Aspenpaw an inquisitive look, wondering if this was the spot. Today, Aspenpaw was to give the leader a tour of the tunnels, to give him some real viable experience. Admittedly, the thought of being enclosed in a hole again was jarring. The last time Finchstar had been in the ground was when he had lost Brookclover. But maybe venturing into one again would make him feel closer to her. After all, this was for the good of WindClan. He himself had ordered the tunnels be reopened. And now he himself would climb into them. "Are you ready?" Blind optimism would conquer all.

Aspenpaw's hobbling gait was beginning to be a little more manageable with the moons of practice. Though his legs bent and stretched in seemingly painful ways, it needed no extra effort to walk like any other cat. He had grown accustomed to sweeping his tail to maintain his balance as he tilted right and left. Walks through the rolling grass and delicate flowers gave him small breaks from the ruckus often struck up in camp, and he loved the gentle breezes Greenleaf brought. The moors soothed him once more. Finally.

His back was covered in cobwebs carrying herbs, a spur of the moment idea that he decided to try on Finchstar. Tansy and coltsfoot were the most obvious choice for the concoction, given that the few cats who had ventured into the tunnels previously came out hacking up a lung to varying degrees. The dirt irritated some WindClanners' delicate throats, Aspenpaw included. He doused these herbs in honey and wrapped the whole thing in a beech leaf to be opened up and eaten off of. He smirked at his own ingenuity. He also included dock and burnet in the event that either of them cut their paws on a stone or something of the same sort. The entire time he packed, Cloverpaw talked his ears off about what he imagined the tunnels were like. It was almost cute, and he wondered if the ancient Nightrunner would find it half as hilarious.

"He's not so bad," Aspenpaw mused, "What's bad is that his siblings are almost my size and got it into their heads that they can all fit in the den at once. Keeping him from standing up was interesting." He did not mention how he hid away when he seized as to not scare the apprentice, nor did he joke about how he was waiting for one to happen at any moment. The clan didn't need to be sitting up at night worrying for him, not when his entire job was worrying about the entire clan. It was already bad enough that he looked like a ThunderClanner trying to swim. The medicine cat pretended that he didn't hear when kits asked if he was dying. The illness that plagued him was barely understood as it was.

The silver tom pulled back the weeds that covered the entrance to the tunnel and peered inside. "Barleytuft, Elmskip, Grousefrost, and I were gifted with a vague idea of how many tunnels there are and how to get through them. I know how to reach the surface from anywhere in the territory. What I can't tell you is which tunnels are faulty. If we figure out this quarter of the moors, and the other toms each do their own section, we can canvass all this land and make a group decision about what stays and what goes." Aspenpaw stepped backward and crouched down, pulling his ears halfway against his skull and sweeping his tail out. "You're going to be doing this a lot. Use your ears, whiskers, and tail. If you can't smell me right against you, you're too far away, and then it's time to start yelling. If you feel a draft or dirt falling on your nose... definitely start yelling and back up." The tom emphasized his last statement with a slightly awkward smile and slowly crawled into the tunnel.

Once he was in, he took a deep breath. The darkness was suffocating, so he didn't bother to keep his eyes open. He shuffled through with purpose, making sure he could always hear the extra set of steps behind him. As they went, he marked every fork and junction in the twisting web of tunnels. "There's a different mark for everything," he called out to the tom behind him, "The stronger it is, the closer you are to the surface. You doing alright back there?"

Finchstar was admittedly somewhat uncomfortable now that the tunnels loomed before him. The thoughts of such things weren't nearly as foreboding as the wide, gaping presence of the hole before him now. However Aspenpaw's brave mindset seemed to contribute to Finchstar's as well. If there were any cats he'd want to venture under the earth with, Aspenpaw was one to fall easily into that group. A few quick instructions were relayed to the leader, and they were off as quick as the hesitation began. The quickened pace was much welcome, however. Moving so fast in the darkness left no room for fluttery thoughts and regrets. In the tunnels, it was only about survival. Following Aspenpaw's speech, the leader continued to scent the air, fearful that he'd lose his friend in the darkness. However every now and then, his tail would brush his nose, and Finchstar was reminded once again that he wasn't alone.

Perhaps it was memories of the sinkhole... and Brookclover. But the underground realm brought a rapid thumping in Finchstar's heart. It made the blood roar in his ears, and he felt his breathing quicken. All instincts told the leader to run back the way they had came. But the darkness sucked the light from all around, and if he panicked, he'd surely die. But this was what was needed for peace. Without shoring up the tunnels, surely there'd be more cave-ins. And more cats would fall victim to the very moor. If he asked this of his clanmates, then Finchstar needed to be willing to do it a thousand times over. Sucking in a breath of air, the leader followed the medicine cat farther down the path, eyes seeing nothing, but heart feeling all. Aspenpaw asked how he was doing, and the leader almost choked. "Claustrophobic, possibly. But I'm not dead. What more can a cat ask for?" Hoping the light of his sarcasm could clear the sense of impending doom in the air, Finchstar gave a smile to Aspenpaw, chuckling as he realized there was no way the tom could see him. "It's intriguing in a way. I've never had too much difficulty seeing at night. But there has never been a time where my eyesight had failed me completely. I wonder if this is how those with blindness feel. I must say, I do not envy those cats, but there is certainly a lot one can learn from them." And Aspenpaw, as well. He lead with confidence, as if the night he spent with StarClan had been an eternity.

Time seemed to turn to honey as they padded through the black. Finchstar found, with his other senses dulled, he could easily make note of drafts in the air, and could smell the earth as well. What to do with this information, however, he was ignorant to. But for now, the leader was glad his heart had stopped racing, it became almost peaceful as they padded deeper, or perhaps they were moving upward? It seemed as if both a minute and a moon had passed when the tom turned his nose toward a larger draft, scenting the air with apprehension. If he was correct, the shifting in the air could possibly be an offshoot from the main tunnel. But with the lack of light, and the dulled headspace, there was no way of knowing. Hesitation, however, was a deadly thing. Leaning over the slope -as it seemed-, and the leader found himself tumbling through the misty air. Soil slid with fur, and rocks cut at his pelt. Alarm was Finchstar's first reaction, and had his mind not betrayed him, he could swear Aspenpaw had been left in a different tunnel, the deep slope separating the two. Another roll, this time painful. A fire shot through Finchstar's belly as it ripped with the stones. A long protruding shard teared his flesh, leaving the tang of soil to be overridden by the copper smell of blood. A sticky thing it was, lapping at Finchstar's paws as he let himself fall to the floor of the tunnel, wounds hidden by the darkness.

Mind; throbbing, and reality a haze. Thoughts of Brookclover falling into the earth's jaws overrode his most basic instincts. Perhaps he should call out for his friend. But Finchstar grew tired, the crimson honey now covering his fur like a blanket. It would be easy to fall into sleep, away from the sun. And what a sweet thing it was, the memories folding him gently as they carried him away from war. Away from the pain and the harsh stones that jabbed his limbs. "Don't worry about me, 'paw." Finchstar spoke, unaware if Aspenpaw was anywhere close by, or if he could even hear him. "I'm going to rest for a while. Maybe I'll see her."

As the pair walked through the endless maze of dirt tunnels, Aspenpaw wondered what other practical uses there were for this lovely darkness that hid under WindClan. He thought about Finchstar's transparency on the subject. Would the other clans know? Was their young leader the secretive type? Dripping with diplomacy, the ginger and white tabby navigated politics with poise. Strategy. It was admirable, the game of wits his dearest friend played. Aspenpaw admired and adored him for it. As the older of the toms remarked on blindness, the medicine cat lightly gruffed in agreement. The talk of disability made him just a little uncomfortable. He hated the pity he often received. Knowing that it was very unlikely that he would leave camp alone, save for the half-moon meetings, chafed his ego greatly. Mobility issues and his tendency to drop to the ground bound him to the care of his clanmates. Pity and necessity... was that his life? The tsk-tsk of queens who told their kits not to stare? Visited only by apprentices with thorns in their paws? Was he a valued clanmate, or just a valued skill? The herbs that clung to his back felt heavy, like stone. He returned to the gorge in his mind, standing on the brink. Eternity sounded preferable. In StarClan, he hoped his legs would be returned to him in their former glory. For now, however, he was in the comfort of the dark. He shut his eyes, having no need for them here.

The sound of tumbling behind him tightened his throat. He gasped in terror as Finchstar fell victim to the dark. Aspenpaw backpedaled, seeking the slope his leader slid down. It was then that he heard the tom's weak voice, accompanied by the metallic smell of blood. A feeling of pain overwhelmed him, seeming to come from nowhere. His mind was calm, so why did he feel this strange aura of unknowing? It was then that he understood that Finchstar was losing a life, and he was feeling every ounce of it. Aspenpaw teetered down the slope and found Finchstar, already too far gone. He was going to die. Though he knew his friend would be back in only a few moments, the loss still consumed him. The desperate mew echoed in the small chamber as Aspenpaw gripped Finchstar's scruff and pulled him off the rock that so heartlessly killed him. A tunnel opening was near, if only he could see a StarClan forsaken thing. He yanked Finchstar with all of his might, but his frailness was too great to drag the larger tom all the way up the slope to the top. With the thin rays of light that reached their part of the tunnel, Aspenpaw looked over the damage. The burnet and dock was too little, too late. Even so, he pressed the herbs onto the large gash. Finchstar's blood covered his white paws, staining them crimson. Covered with cobwebs, his leader almost looked dead. And then he was. The blankness in his eyes reminded the medicine cat of things he dared not remember. He couldn't bear to look.

Pressing his face into his friend's ginger scruff, Aspenpaw asked himself how long it would take. Any longer, and he would surely stay dead, right? Where did Finchstar go? Did he see Brookclover, like he wanted so dearly? Perhaps she'd be cross with him, losing another life so soon. He laughed a little to himself, remembering the pretty she-cat's face when she was both bemused and disappointed. Was this his second life, already? Had he failed by not keeping his mind on the inexperienced cat that tailed him? With a soft sigh, Aspenpaw curled his body around the lifeless cat and waited with horrible, eerie silence.

Death was not new to Finchstar. Of all the things life held, losing one's soul had to be the most poetic. The leader decided long ago that while death carried sadness, it was something to be respected. He had first died at the death of his mate. While the earth had crushed their bodies, Finchstar knew that had his pelt been healthy, then perhaps his mind may have brought him to StarClan. The tom was never meant to be without Brookclover. And yet his lifeblood only possessed one life, while the leader had been gifted with nine. A cruel fate it was, to live without her, and yet the sun had rose again. Finchstar learned to love and live as one single soul, padding through the moors as a hollow frame. But life held other surprises. In his poetic death, the love around him caught him before the leader had fallen. It was strange to bring down all his bluffs and all his walls, but he cared and was cared for. And it was in this simple process that Finchstar had begun to heal. A glorious journey it was, and every night he whispered to Brookclover of his day. He watched the stars, smiling as they sparkled. Someday he'd bring all his stories to the sky to share with her. A beautiful thing it was.

However this time there was no larger meaning, no romantic sacrifice or glittering destiny. This feeling the leader now felt was raw, a sharp thing that cut through the threads of existence mercilessly. There was no sorrow, as the only life lost was his own. Finchstar closed his eyes as Aspenpaw slid down the dark tunnel, pulling him from the rock that had cut him so. There was darkness. For a moment, the tom couldn't distinguish between the strands of death and the black mist of the tunnel. The line between living an dying had blurred beyond recognition, and the pain faded away on a swift breeze. This time, StarClan did not appear in the black night Finchstar now saw. This time, there was simply nothing. He did not gasp as his friend pulled him from the slope. He did not feel the soft fur as Aspenpaw pressed into his side. He did not wince as the medicine cat pressed leaves into the gash. And then the leader's breathing stopped. His heart rested for a small moment, and his lungs laid their heads down as the wind no longer graced his frame. Silence. Finchstar walked for a moment in the black void, tail flicking side to side as he looked around.

He was not lonely, but rather intrigued. What did this mean? Finchstar had never been infatuated with the eight lives StarClan had given to him. While he was grateful and vowed to use them well, they were not gifts for him to keep. Finchstar had been born with one life and one alone. And this single thing, he cherished. Not for its value to himself, but for the opportunity in it. This life was full of adventure. The harbinger of love. It had carried him over the wind, propelling his paws to where they needed to go. This single life he had been willing to set aside for his clanmates. Why should the other eight be any different? The leader chuckled to himself as he padded through his headspace, sniffing the air, finding himself intrigued with the lack of substance. A sharp rock has stolen his soul away this time. Not a sacrifice or a beast, but a stone, buried long beneath the ground. While this death was not noble or noteworthy, it had still been set aside. A gift from StarClan to WindClan, lost. But Finchstar didn't find himself sad. He even lacked fear. This life was less of his own and more of his clan's. But it was nothing to be sorrowful over. When the leader would pass, Raventail would take his place. That black tom would lead as brilliantly as the wind itself. And life would continue on, drifting among the heartstrings of the living. Love would not falter either. Barleytuft had taught him this and Finchstar became more aware of the concept with each passing day. His bones may turn to dust and his fur may grow dull, but the forest would remain steadfast.

The leader smiled as the darkness lifted, satisfied with the terms he had come to. While death was to be respected, it was not free from the clutches of the mediocre. It didn't illegitimatize Ashstar's gifted life, however Finchstar decided he wouldn't fret over the concept. The clan needn't worry about him, even as they cared. Finchstar's sacrifice would not be one of saving a life, but rather saving the emotions of those he cared for. His clanmates didn't need to know of the issue, Aspenpaw could keep a secret. A smile formed on the leader's maw as he opened his eyes to the ray of light now drifting through a distant opening in the tunnel. The feeling that passed through him was surreal, as if his very pelt was aware of the life now lost. The grin quickly turned to a grimace as the pain came rushing back, along with the rest of the leader's senses. A gasp of air, shaky, like the one he had taken after Brookclover had ascended to the stars. His heart beat one more and yellow eyes darted around the cavern. The leader soon found Aspenpaw curled into his pelt, affection for the medicine cat thumping in his veins. Finchstar rested his head on his as they laid in the silence.

"Ouch." The leader mewed sarcastically, hoping to bring light to his current situation. He couldn't fully make out the blood in the darkness, but could feel the sticky substance caked to his fur. "That wasn't ideal..." A cough. A wince. "They'll have to rename me Holestar now... is it bad?" Finchstar twisted to lap at the wound and found himself coughing again. The pain was something. At least he was feeling. Death has not claimed all his lives yet. "Can you do me a favor, 'paw? I'd like to keep this life a secret. WindClan may be stunned as I pad back to camp with a red pelt instead of orange, but they needn't know I died. StarClan that sounds gloomy." The leader chuckled and immediately regretted it, bowling over in pain once more. With the medicine cat's help, he shuffled to his paws as they started towards the light. Life would pad on just as he did. And while the leader pursued peace, love would not be lost in his absence. There was nothing to fear. "Thank you, Aspenpaw. For both saving me and carrying the burdens of such things. Death is heavy, and yet do not bring yourself to fret over me. It will take seven more rocks to end me, 'paw. For now, we will simply live. Our hearts are too full to worry."

When Finchstar finally came back to sudden consciousness, Aspenpaw couldn't help but desperately lick his face. He would never get used to it, in many moons of Finchstar dying countless times. He wondered what the tom saw when his eyes went glossy and he was lost to the world. It was certainly harrowing from the outside, to watch someone come back from the dead. The ginger cat didn't seem to mind the way he went this time. It was admirable how he let it roll off his shoulders. "Better me than one of our clanmates," his aloofness said. It brought a smile to the world-weary medicine cat's face. As Finchstar looked himself over, Aspenpaw watched in reverent silence. There was a joy to be had in a moment like this, wasn't there? The joy of ludus, playful love, and watching the sun rise and fall without care to what it all meant. A weight lifted off Aspenpaw's shoulders for a moment.

Not everything needed a purpose. The wind did not make a purpose for itself when it chose to shift from east to west. It just did. Finchstar embodied the wind, and Aspenpaw tried to walk against it. He was a little too willowy for all that effort, anyway. The truth was, Aspenpaw thrived in uncertainty. Nothing about his current predicament made any sense, and to make sense of it all seemed a little ridicu When his friend spoke, he understood the need for privacy. Everything about leadership was too public. He didn't know how Finchstar could stand it all, which made his request all the more reasonable. It was hard work, holding up the larger tom against his thin frame, but he barely minded.

"Your secret is safe with me, you old bat," he laughed as they walked up the tunnel slope together. "Who needs transparency, right? It's incredible, your only scandal as leader is that you cared too much!" The sun would rise and fall again, and Finchstar would still be there, until the next seven rocks came to claim his everlasting youth. No matter. Today, there was only the sun.